Happily Ever After
by The Talentless Hack
Summary: one shot, “Capt Mis” verse, DARK. Real life has a nasty habit of ripping away our most cherished illusions. 2nd person POV, Saitoucentric.


**A/N:** This is _way_ darker than I usually write. When I first started it, I didn't think it would end up the way it did; I was actually going for angst with humor sprinkled throughout, but yeah…not so much. No real spoilers for Souji's story (_The Hippo Stalks at Midnight_), which I will start posting once _Captain Mis_ is finished (_sob!_); if you're all caught up in _Captain Mis_, none of what is in here will ruin _Hippo_ for you at all. I purposely wrote this that way, actually. Also, I wanted to toy with a point of view I'd never used before. So yeah.

**WARNING: This is NOT a happy, rainbows-and-fluffy-bunnies story. If violence, blood, gore, suicidal tendencies and the like make you uncomfortable, you are advised to read no further. If you can handle the afore mentioned, proceed. **

* * *

_Happily Ever After_

_XoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoX_

You meet her when you're in a club you have no business being in, allowed entrance because you haven't shaved in a few days and it was just dark enough for your fake id to fool the bouncer into thinking you were old enough.

This isn't the first time you've attracted a woman's notice (though Souji doesn't get it and to be honest, neither do you), so you know how this is going to play out…

…only it doesn't go the way you thought it would. You do buy her a drink and start talking, but at the end of the night all you leave with are her phone number and an invitation to call.

So you do.

_XoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoX_

She's five years older than you, which you were sort of expecting, given where you met her. 23 seems a lot older than 18 when you think about it, and you get sort of uncomfortable every time she subtly inquires after your age. But you're a master at throwing people off, and you evade her probing as easily as if she were an opponent in a dojo spar coming at you with live steel.

Your memory is full of all sorts of odd little facts, knowing just enough to lull people much older than you into a false sense of camaraderie with someone they assume saw what they saw and knows exactly what they're talking about. And you sort of do, to a certain point, but you know you don't really, when it all comes down to it, because reading about something and seeing it happen are two very different things.

It's a lie by omission, but you're good at explaining that away as a technicality, _because she never actually asked so it doesn't count_.

She gets pissed when she finds out how old you really are, but you just shrug it off and tell her that a five year age difference doesn't matter.

And you know, somewhere in the back of your mind, that you're lying, but you say it anyway, because as grown up as you think you are, you still think and speak like a child.

_And only children believe that saying a thing out loud will make it come true. _

_XoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoX_

You've been dating her for three months when your family finally meets her, and it goes just as badly as you were expecting _and then some_.

But you're stubborn and pretty sure you're in love, so you ignore your mother and grandfather and just keep on ignoring your father the way you always have, because your old man's cracked and it's easier to block out the nonsense.

Your friends congratulate you on scoring a babe, and you neither encourage nor discourage these congratulations, but you have to wonder what in the hell she's doing with you. Because you're still a kid, as much as you hate to admit that, still in high school—and it sounds so sordid when you think about the fact that _you're still in high school_ _and she's five years older than you_ and now she sort of sounds less like a hot babe and more like a creepy pedophile—and you don't understand what she's doing with a brat like you when she could be with someone else.

You don't think about it too much, though, because it's easier to ignore it.

_If you ignore your problems they just have to go away, right?_

_XoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoX_

You've been dating her for six months when you decide you are in love with her, enough that you ask her one night when you're walking through Ginza to marry you.

She's surprised and, to tell the truth, you are too, because you weren't expecting yourself to ask that. But the idea's been making the rounds in the back of your mind for a while now, because you're logical, and it makes sense to you that if you're in love with someone for real, you marry her. The for real part is important, and you know the difference because you feel it with her. None of your other girlfriends made you feel quite like Yaso does, so you think, well, that has to be it.

She doesn't reply right away, and you're ready to try to laugh it off (if that's even possible) when she smiles at you and says yes. And you walk home together—because you moved out three and a half months ago after a big blow-out with your parents and grandfather that started over the woman with her arm looped through yours—and ignore the vague, half-formed thought that maybe this isn't a good idea wait a second think it over a little more—

B follows A, 2 follows 1, marriage follows love.

And that's the end of that.

_XoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoX_

Your friends are stunned when you tell them, and Souji can't quite cover the look of absolute horror on his face when you ask him to be your witness and best man.

But you don't say anything about the reaction, and after a long, stifling moment that feels like infinity they give you their slow, dazed congratulations and Souji accepts with shadows in his eyes and a ghost of a frown around his lips.

You ignore that too, because you've decided you're doing this and you're not going to let anyone talk you out of it. And your friends won't try if you don't ask for their opinions, so you keep quiet and nod.

You're 18 when you get married; your wife has just turned 24.

_XoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoX_

You're old fashioned and that pisses her off as much as your smoking, but you won't stop being old fashioned or smoking because you like yourself the way you are and it never bothered you before.

You fight with her a lot more now than you did when you were dating, but you don't worry about it too much, because you fight about things like whose turn it is to take out the trash and whose turn it is to do the dishes and other things that you fought about with her before you borrowed enough money to buy the silver ring on her left hand that you're going to be paying off for a very long time, even as cheap as you were able to get the thing.

The thing you fight the most about, though, is the fact that you don't have a job. It pisses you off that she keeps harping on that, because she makes it sound like you sit on your ass all day long and do nothing, and you don't—but you can't help it if no one wants to hire a fucking kid who just graduated from high school with no work experience.

And one day it all falls into place and the fighting stops and you're happy again.

_XoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoX_

A week into the training, you and your friends get pulled aside by a tall, imposing, handsome man who asks if you all are interested in making better money than you would with the MPD.

You think of all the bills Yaso has had to pay while you were looking for a job and immediately say that you can't speak for the rest of them, but you're very interested. The man looks at you with piercing, assessing eyes and asks for your name and you say Saitou Hajime, sir, the way you've been told you're supposed to address your superiors from now on. His eyes narrow and he looks you over again, and then looks over the rest of your friends and asks are there any more takers?

And they all say yes too, and introduce themselves the way you did, and the man nods each time and looks everyone over before he says My name is Hijikata Toshizou, and you think Hijikata could be one scary motherfucker if he wanted, the way those eyes of his pinned you down when he looked at you.

_XoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoX_

At first you think it's a joke when you hear what it is you're actually going to be doing, and you look at Hijikata's face and Kondou Isami's face and Yamanami Keisuke's face to make sure but no one's laughing.

And you think there's rules against this, there's _laws_ against this, you can't just up and decide to create a secret organization like this—except they did, because you're standing in the basement dojo of a deceptively nondescript building listening to Kondou explain what you're all doing here. And you know this isn't a dream, because true crime was never your thing, and you know it isn't a weird trip because you don't do drugs.

You still think this can't be happening three days later when Hijikata and Yamanami come by to tell you that you're going to be spying for them from now on, and hand you your first assignment.

Training wheels are coming off starting today, Yamanami says with an apologetic look.

Don't fuck up, Hijikata advises without looking at you, already heading for the next guy.

You don't.

_XoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoX_

The first time you kill a man, you don't think too much about it at the time, because there's adrenaline screaming through your veins—or is that blood?—and that fight-or-flight part of you said flight wasn't an option, so you fought, and that stubborn asshole in you said dying wasn't an option either, so you slit the guy's stomach open and watched his guts tumble out and hit the floor with a sick wet splat.

You're bloody when you get back to the department, but none of it's yours. You go to Hijikata-fukuchou's office and report to him as soon as you arrive, because that's how it's done. He listens to you talk in silence, eyes on your face, and when you're done he tells you you're dismissed and by the way, Hajime-kun, go clean yourself up.

So you head to the showers next and ignore the looks you get as you walk down the hall, the way some of the guys jump back and scream _Jesus!_ when they see you, the way others stare in horror. Your mind is blank and you're just walking—right left right left right left—and breathing—in out in out in out—and ignoring the metallic, coppery smell clinging to you that three and a half cigarettes hasn't been able to overpower. You get to the showers and the men in there clear out the second you walk in and you don't mind because you don't really notice.

You look at yourself in the mirror, splattered with blood that doesn't belong to you, and remember the way his guts slid out of his body so slowly that it looked like someone had hit a slow motion button somewhere, and then you hurl in the sink so violently that you pull muscles in your chest and stomach.

Souji, Harada and Senpai slam into the room fifteen minutes later to find you hunched over the sink, finished puking your guts out but shaking too much to do anything but hold onto the counter so hard your knuckles are white and your fingers feel like they're going to snap.

You don't sleep that night, or the night after that or the night after that, or any night after that for a very long time.

_XoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoX_

The first time you talk to Yaso since starting your new job, she says she misses you and wishes you could come back and doesn't see why you should be gone for so long.

You don't say much, let her talk, because you've killed six more guys since the first one, and you spend a lot of time thinking about that and what that means for you and her.

When she asks you what's wrong, why are you so quiet, you just say you're tired and it's nothing.

You go through an entire pack of cigarettes while sitting on the roof later, after you hang up with her.

_XoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoX_

The first time you see her since starting your new job you don't want to touch her.

You haven't seen her for three months, and ordinarily you'd have grabbed her the second she opened the door, but now there's blood coating your hands and splashing through your dreams and washing over your mind and you think that if she touches you she'll see it and feel it and know.

You don't flinch away the way you want to when she hugs you, when she kisses you, when she drags you into the apartment and into the normal little bedroom that looks so alien now.

You watch her sleep after you have sex with her for the first time in three months, sitting on the floor with your back against the wall, a cigarette hanging out of your mouth, and suddenly you know that trading furloughs with Souji was a terrible mistake.

_XoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoX_

The first time you think you're going to die is also the first time your target catches you off guard.

And you know it was nothing you did, because the guy's like you—paranoid, cautious, suspicious. But that isn't any fucking consolation to you at all when you get shot in the chest twice.

And you're lying on the floor and it hurts like a mother and it's harder to breathe—did your lung get hit or is that just the pain?—but you still roll over and grab your gun and aim and fire and take the guy down because you had orders to kill the son of a bitch if you got found out and Hijikata-fukuchou told you not to fuck up. Then you put your forehead down against the floor and think, I'm fucking dying, and you think about Yaso and know you made another terrible mistake, you shouldn't have gotten married, what a fucking idiot you are, playing at being a grown up when you know shit-all about it.

And you don't think about what's going to happen to her when you die, and you don't think about how she's going to feel and all you think is that you regret ever asking her to marry you because you didn't know what the fuck you were asking for.

You manage to get the cell phone out of your pocket and call Hijikata-fukuchou to make a report, because you know you aren't going to be able to make it to the department to make it in person and Hijikata-fukuchou calls you a dumb fuck and says he's sending people over to get you now and you aren't allowed to die.

So you ask if it's okay to pass out, and then you do without hearing if it was okay or not, because you're bleeding and you can't stay conscious anymore.

You're angry and disappointed when you wake up pumped full of pain killers with a breathing tube down your throat and an IV sticking out of your arm, because it means you're still a fuck up.

_XoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoX_

You don't go home for your first year anniversary, so Yaso calls you and you get into a fight over the phone that lasts for hours before she hangs up on you. You call back and she doesn't pick up, so when it goes to the machine you tell her to go fuck herself and hang up.

Neither one of you said happy anniversary to the other.

You go up to the roof with your cigarettes and sit there alone for a couple hours before your friends come up to join you, and bring saké and beer. You all sit on the roof together, silent, and drink until you black out, and you wake up the next day in a pool of your own vomit with the sun coming up and a hangover trying to split your head into six jagged pieces.

You don't talk to Yaso for two weeks, and when you do, you don't apologize and neither does she.

And you hear in her voice that she's starting to see that it was a mistake too.

You're 19; she just turned 25.

_XoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoX_

Your memory of the year after that is spotty in parts, and blindingly fucking clear in others.

You never remember the shit you want to remember, and can't forget the shit you wish had never happened.

_XoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoX_

You become the department executioner because Hijikata-fukuchou recommends you.

You don't decline because that isn't an option.

And you never really gave a shit about a lot of the other guys you worked with, outside of Souji and Harada and Senpai and Heisuke (Himura doesn't count because despite all the time the redhead spends—against his will, mind—with your group, you still think he's useless), but hardly any of them ever did anything to piss you off enough that you wouldn't mind killing them.

You hate that you're the last thing those guys see, and you hate that the sound of your katana cutting air is the last thing they hear, and you hate that the smell of your cigarettes is the last thing they smell. And you hate that the bastards had to come see you at all, if they'd just done what they were supposed to do you wouldn't be here cutting their heads off as cleanly as if you were slicing a fucking apple.

You hate every single last one of them _so much_…but you make their last second as painless as possible, because that's what you're supposed to do when you're a guy's second.

You go through so many packs of cigarettes and so many bottles of saké and eat so little and sleep so little that Souji thinks you're trying to kill yourself.

You laugh even though all you really want to do is cry and tell him you're already dead, this is just hell.

Souji starts losing sleep staying up nights with you to make sure you don't off yourself while he's asleep.

_XoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoX_

All you remember about the next year is not going home for your two year anniversary, and the face of every man you killed.

Yaso has seen you all of three times since you started working in the department, and the last time was because Hijikata-fukuchou granted you a special furlough after talking with Souji. You're pretty sure that your superior now thinks you're fucking insane, but you were away from the department for a week, so you aren't going to complain.

Every time you talk to your wife, you get into an argument about when you're coming home again, why can't you come home now, what are you really doing, do you even have a job—these conversations never end well and rarely last long. So you don't feel as bad as you did last year about not getting furlough for your anniversary. And just like last year, you get into a huge argument with her before you hang up, and neither of you says happy anniversary.

You don't get plastered this year, because the minute you hang up, Hijikata-fukuchou lets you know that you have a new job, and you go out and do your spying.

Nothing happens and you come back the next morning unscathed and fall into bed after making your report.

Business as usual.

Unless you've got a job or an execution to oversee, you spend a lot of your time drinking and smoking. You think your liver and lungs must be on the verge of collapse by now, because yeah you have bad habits but you never indulged them quite as frequently or as lavishly as you are now. But you're fine, physically, though Yamazaki quietly tells you that you should sleep and eat more, you're too gaunt, you're starting to look emaciated. And you know he's giving you advice, not just as medical professional but as a friend…but you really can't find it in you to give a shit.

You think about the men you've killed when you're sober, and remembering how they died makes you nauseous, so you drink to block it out and forget for a little while.

_XoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoX_

You kill a woman two months after being with the department for two years, and three months after being married for two years.

It's the first time you really think about offing yourself with any seriousness.

It was a simple job that got very complicated, very fast. She was an unknown accomplice and figured out what you were actually doing, although she had no idea for whom or for what purpose. Just as well, you thought dispassionately as you broke her neck in one swift, brutal move. It wouldn't have done her any good anyway.

But when you got back to the department, you went to the showers and sat under the cold spray, staring blankly ahead at the wall across from you, and thought about the best, most efficient method to kill yourself. You know all about that, too—it would have been hard as hell to kill someone without knowing that.

You're most partial to a bullet through the eyeball. Sticking it in your mouth, you know, risks having the bullet glance off a tooth and come out without killing you. Up against your eye, it's impossible to miss, and it's quick, always a plus. Seppuku is completely abhorrent after supervising so many executions, so you never even consider it. Poisoning allows too much time for someone to find you and get you to a hospital for treatment. Slitting your wrists seems like it would be too slow, and you don't think you have the balls to slit your own throat. Hanging yourself might work—you're good with knots, courtesy of your grandpa teaching you how to do them one summer when you were being annoying and he couldn't take it anymore—but there isn't enough privacy here for you to go through with it without interference.

You zone out there under the water until the next day, when some of the guys come in for their morning showers and find you, water still pounding down on you, clothes soaked through. You're shaking violently and your lips are blue and they haul your ass to the infirmary and Yamazaki yells at you for being so stupid, what were you trying to do, give yourself hypothermia and die?

No, you say flatly, hypothermia's too slow.

You get put on suicide watch for an indefinite amount of time.

_XoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoX_

You don't remember how you ended up in solitary, so you know you were drunk. It doesn't really bother you until you realize you're going to be in solitary for a month, no beer, no saké, no cigs—no company.

Senpai bribes the guy guarding you (you're still on suicide watch, even five months later), and sneaks down to see you whenever he can. He can't sneak in booze, that's too big, but he does manage to get you cigarettes. You're happy for that much and don't complain.

You hear from him how you went ballistic on two guys who came to haul Himura off to work. The redhead offed his father-in-law to-be by accident—old man was in the wrong place at the wrong time—and hasn't been the same since. Souji likes the guy and has been trying to help him out and be a friend, and that's the only reason you were there the night they came for Himura. Souji got into an argument with the guys, and you kept quiet until the guys started threatening Souji. You broke bones and dislocated jaws and left them in a hell of a mess, and it took six guys and a tranquilizer dart to get you under control.

You don't remember any of this.

You don't care.

Souji is in the cell over, Senpai tells you. He got a week for insubordination; since he didn't almost kill two guys he doesn't have to stay as long. Better for him, you say absently, his lungs are weak.

When Souji gets out a week later, he and Senpai take turns coming to see you and sit outside your cell and talk to you through the little door where they shove your food through. You sit in the dark, smoking, while they tell you what's going on around the department. Hijikata-fukuchou and Kondou-taichou are pissed off at you and thinking of taking you off active duty, maybe even having you executed. You don't say anything to this news other than to say that maybe Hijikata-fukuchou and Kondou-taichou should go fuck themselves. You find out that Harada tried to commit seppuku and ended up in the hospital instead, half dead. You don't say anything at all about that.

You hear that Heisuke left, and you're glad; he fell apart when Yamanami-fukuchou committed seppuku, and he had to be restrained because everyone was sure he'd try to kill himself now that his mentor was gone. You're also glad that Senpai is the one to tell you this and not Souji, because Souji has not been the same since then either; you know that you'll never forgive Hijikata-fukuchou for not waiting for you to come back to be Yamanami-fukuchou's second, for not sparing Souji from having to cut off the head of a man he idolized as an older brother.

When you don't have company, you spend a lot of your time sleeping. And even though you tend to have a lot of nightmares, you prefer them to sitting in that dark, squalid little room with only your thoughts for company.

At least you can make the nightmares stop by waking up.

It isn't as easy to make your thoughts disappear.

_XoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoX_

You basically get the shit beat out of you by Hijikata-fukuchou once your stint in solitary is over.

You don't try to defend yourself because you understand that this is punishment for defying your master and not being a good little spy. You think about it, though, because it would be easy to lash out at the man crouching over you, slamming his fist into your face over and over again. You haven't put up any resistance, and by now, he probably thinks you aren't able to. But it would be easy to reach up and jam a fist into his throat and knock him off of you, easy to jump on him and grab him by the hair and bash his head into the floor until he stopped moving.

But you don't do that, and when Hijikata-fukuchou finally stops, you're a bloody mess on the floor, fighting not to pass out and to keep breathing. Your nose is broken and you can taste blood in your mouth; your face is swollen and pulsing with pain, but you're fairly sure nothing is broken; one of your eyes is swollen shut (Yamazaki's going to have to cut that open, you know), and blood from a cut on your forehead has caked over and sealed the other one shut; your left shoulder is dislocated; breathing hurts like a motherfucker, so you know you have at least one broken or bruised rib; and there are a thousand other aches and pains that you can feel, but can't be bothered to individually identify.

Hijikata-fukuchou doesn't even pause once he steps back from you. He just turns around and leaves, and ten seconds later, Yamazaki and Souji come running in. Between them, they get you to your feet, and then Souji throws your right arm over his shoulders and lets your dead weight sag over him, and you manage, with him holding you up, to stumble after Yamazaki to the infirmary, where a long night of getting patched up awaits you.

Kondou-taichou comes in early the next morning, throws cold water over your face and tells you that you're back on the roster starting now, here's your next assignment, get right on it, and don't ever make us have to discipline you again, Hajime-kun, because you won't end up in the infirmary next time, it'll be the morgue.

You accept your assignment and tell Kondou-taichou he can go fuck himself. He punches you in the face and knocks you off the bed, and you land on the floor on your formerly dislocated shoulder, bright lights exploding behind your eyelids, and you throw up and hurt your bruised ribs worse. He's gone by the time the dry heaves stop.

Yamazaki comes in, finds you on the floor in a puddle of vomit and sighs, then goes over to help you up and back onto the bed.

You're a mess, Hajime, he tells you, sounding sad and tired.

Yeah, you reply hoarsely, you don't know the half of it.

_XoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoX_

You find out Harada's leaving the same day you find out Senpai's resigning.

The only reason you hear about it is because you gave up your furlough to Souji so he could stay with that girl he fancies. As for you, well, you and Yaso haven't been talking to each other, and you haven't spoken to your family since the day you moved out, so it's not like anyone will miss you.

It's late afternoon, and you're up on the roof, sitting in the long shadows, smoking. Today was one of the better ones you've had with the department: you didn't have an assignment, you didn't have to kill anyone, and you spent most of the morning sparring with Yamazaki.

Senpai and Harada both eventually make their way up to the roof, and bum cigarettes off of you. Senpai is gaunter and harder, but far more brittle than he was two years ago. Harada, at first glance, looks the same, but the long jagged scar across his stomach is silent testament to the contrary. They call him the man who can't die around the department, but you know that's bullshit—if you stick a guy in the right place with something sharp enough, he'll drop dead easy enough. Hell, a well-placed bullet can do it too; you've seen it happen often enough that you know that for a fact.

The three of you sit in the long shadows of afternoon, watching the sun set over Tokyo, in silence for a long time, before Senpai breaks the silence and tells you he's put in for his resignation. After a pause, Harada says he's done the same.

Neither man looks at you or each other.

You aren't surprised. You already knew that it was just a matter of time before Harada wanted out. You're glad it wasn't as permanent as his first attempt to leave, because as much as he pisses you off sometimes, you've known the guy for years and you've been through some shit with him and…well, goddammit, you like the fucker and you'd miss him if he checked out forever.

Senpai's resignation isn't a surprise either, knowing what you do about the man's personal life. His chick died a couple of days after making him a daddy, and he couldn't get leave for either the birth or the funeral. Hell, he didn't even find out he was a daddy until after his chick died, and he was hysterical when they told him about it. He went as ballistic as you did the night you got thrown in solitary for a month, and you heard him screaming at Hijikata-fukuchou and Kondou-taichou all night through the wall of your room—you and Souji and all the other operatives were confined to your rooms that night, and no one was allowed to leave. The next morning when you went to see what the fuck had happened, the room was trashed and Senpai was sitting in a corner, an emotional wreck, and Harada was sitting next to him, exhausted and miserable and impotent.

So you've been expecting this news for a while now. But the hollow feeling in your gut is still a surprise, as is the immediate flash of betrayal at being left behind.

Because you don't have shit now; your wife thinks you're a lowlife scumbag and hasn't taken any of the money you send her from your substantial paycheck in a year. You haven't spoken to your folks in so long that you doubt they'd welcome you back, not the way you left—your temper isn't unique to just you, after all, that shit is completely inherited, in spades, from both sides of the family.

All you have is this soul-sucking job you're stuck in, this downward spiral you're trapped in, and as much as you hate it and wish it would end you're terrified of that happening, of leaving this hellhole, because you haven't got anything left outside of it, and you know you can't help yourself by yourself at this point—not when you still think about ways to off yourself on your down time.

When, you ask finally, after a long, pregnant silence.

Once Sou-kun gets back, Senpai assures.

You nod and that's the end of that, and the three of you smoke in silence again until the sun disappears behind the horizon.

_XoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoX_

You see off Harada and Senpai in fine style, and the next morning you wake up hungover and miserable, but not in a pool of your own or anyone else's vomit, so you're cautiously optimistic that today won't suck as bad as most days.

You've stopped actively hoping for good days, because they occur so infrequently.

Everyone looks like shit, and no one looks happy, even the two who're getting out.

No survivor guilt, okay? Souji jokes with a brittle smile that doesn't hide how much he wants to go with them.

Yeah, none of that pansy shit, you add, because Souji's jokes are falling a little flat today, and it's not because you're all hungover, as much as you wish that was it. You send them a feral, desperate grin and say, You assholes're supposed to be so hardcore and all.

That does the job, and Souji sends you a quiet, appreciative look while the men standing with you chuckle.

They say their goodbyes one by one, until it's just Souji, Senpai, Harada, and you. The four of you watch each other quietly before quick, brotherly embraces are exchanged, and then Senpai and Harada leave. They make a move to look back, as they're walking away, but you stop them:

Don't look back or it'll be harder, you order, voice hard and grim.

So they take your advice and they don't look back, and Souji and you watch them walk away.

We shouldn've stayed to watch them go like that, Souji says bitterly when they're gone and you can't see their backs anymore.

Nope, you agree shortly around your crumpled cigarette.

It's silent between you for a long time, and you watch the distance where two of your comrades were not fifteen minutes ago.

Guess we're masochists then, you say finally, and turn around to go inside.

Souji follows you, and you hear him mutter, Yeah I guess we are—we're still here, aren't we?

You don't answer. But then, you don't really have to.

_XoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoX_

Days drag on, for a while.

One night, you throw yourself down into your bed, still wearing blood from the guy you offed but too tired to really give a shit, and fall dead asleep the second your head hits the pillow.

When you wake up the next day, you don't have a job anymore.

_XoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoX_

You think it's a joke at first, when what's left of the department gathers in the basement dojo to listen to Kondou-taichou quietly explain that the department has been disbanded, and you look at Hijikata-fukuchou and Kondou-taichou to make sure, but no one's laughing.

You're vaguely aware of how ironic it is that this nightmare is ending in exactly the same place that it started. Mostly, though, you're aware of the terror that seizes you. Because as much as you fucking hate this place, it's all you have left after two years and almost ten months, and even a nightmare is better than nothing at all.

Everyone's dismissed once Kondou-taichou explains that the department no longer exists, and you end up on the roof without remembering how you got there. You sit back against one of the concrete walls housing the stairwell and stare out at nothing, and it takes you a while before you realize that Souji and Himura are there, sitting next to you and looking just as terrified and lost.

So it's over, Himura finally murmurs, sounding dazed.

After a fashion, Souji says.

You don't say anything, just pull out a cigarette and light it; you don't offer one to either of your companions, because neither smokes.

You suddenly miss Senpai and Harada so much you actually hurt inside.

So we're free, Himura says after another long silence, voice small and full of dread.

Freedom sort of feels like a noose around my neck, you say in a dead voice as you stare ahead at nothing.

No one says anything after that.

_XoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoX_

You come home, only it's not home anymore.

You haven't seen this little apartment in almost a year. You haven't seen your wife for just as long.

Both are strangers to you now.

You get into a fight with her and she throws you out. You give up when she starts throwing all of your things out into the hallway, because you're so fucking tired of being alive that it doesn't feel worth it to fight anymore. So when she slams the door shut in your face and tells you not to bother coming back and by the way, she's changing the lock tomorrow, you don't say anything. You just pick up your shit as best you can and leave the building.

You sit in the park for almost an hour, smoking, before a man in an MPD uniform comes up to you and tells you to move along. It takes you a second to realize that he thinks that you're homeless, and you laugh a little, because he isn't wrong, exactly.

But you move along, because you don't want to cause trouble tonight, and you end up in front of Souji's sister's. She lets you in, because Souji's folks have always treated you like one of the family, and tells you it's so good to see you, where have you been, have you talked to Souji recently, are you hungry, have you eaten, are you tired, do you need anything?

You just smile a little and bow and thank her and say whatever hospitality she's willing to give you for the night is fine.

You stay with her for the next eight months.

_XoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoX_

You get a job in the MPD, Bunkyo Ward precinct.

Kondou-taichou becomes Superintendent General of the MPD, and Hijikata-fukuchou becomes the head of the criminal investigations department of the precinct you and the other fifty-odd operatives that lasted are now working in.

You are immediately made Lieutenant, and given a team to command: Souji and Himura.

You are also ordered to attend sessions with a psychiatrist, but that doesn't last long; you go for the amount of time the MPD required, and then stop going.

You don't need some middle aged, soft-bellied man who's never had blood stain his hands to tell you that you are now even farther from "normal" than you were three years ago.

Souji and Himura move into the barracks in the precinct, but you don't really want to. You're more withdrawn now than ever before, and prefer your own company, or Souji's or his sister's and her family's. In fact, you think you're probably better off staying in a family environment, and Souji's sister doesn't mind; she says Souji explained that you were having problems with both your wife and your family, and so you're welcome to stay with her as long as you needed.

It doesn't rankle as much as you always thought it would, to be so dependent on someone else.

Then again, you're pretty fucked up right now.

_XoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoX_

Souji's sister helps you get back into contact with your folks, and a couple of weeks after you call and talk to your mother for the first time in almost four years, you go back home.

Both of your siblings are gone. Katsu is on vacation with her future in-laws, and Hiroaki is away at college. That suits you better, because the house is quieter—it isn't completely quiet because your old man is still a raving lunatic.

Everything that's happened is water under the bridge now, and even though you think you don't deserve it, it's a nice feeling.

Things with Yaso aren't as easy to mend.

She doesn't want to talk to you, and when you do manage to get a hold of her, it turns into an argument that turns into a screaming match that turns into not being able to get a hold of her for days upon days.

You don't think you can fix this, and really, when you are feeling honest, you don't want to. It was a mistake, and all parties involved would be better off if you just gave up already. But there's still, miraculously, some hope in you somewhere, hope that maybe with a little work, with a little time, it'll be okay again, everything will go back to the way it was….

_But that's wistful thinking and you know it._

_XoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoX_

Yaso told you once that you were too stubborn for your own good, and you know that she was right—is right.

But now you have a sneaking suspicion that you're stupid too, because even though you know it's a lost cause, you keep trying to fix something that broke a long time ago, that you neglected for too long, even if you didn't really mean to, _and it's too damn late now_.

_XoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoX_

The day of your six year anniversary, you admit, finally, that there's nothing more that you can do.

The breakdown in communication is too drastic at this point, and going to see a counselor, like Souji had suggested a few times, would just be a tremendous waste of money.

And quite frankly, as cold-blooded as it is, you feel like you've thrown away enough money in this marriage already.

But because of that breakdown in communication with Yaso, you haven't been talking to her—you've been dealing with her asshole brothers. You hated them right from the start, because they didn't get involved in their sister's life until she told them the two of you had gotten married, and then all of a sudden they became concerned about their little sister's welfare. Your first meeting with them did not go well, to understate in massive proportions.

Not that you had held out hope for a good meeting—not with mutual and instantaneous hate on both sides.

They drag things out and piss you off for seven months, and it isn't until the day you get into a fist fight with both of them (and win, of course, because with the background you have, it's like fighting against babies) that Yaso decides it's time for her to take over.

Your lawyer talks to her lawyer, and you're advised to stop calling her. So as much as it rankles, you stop. It's not like it'd do any good at this point anyway.

The next time you see her is a surprise; you're at work, sitting in your office alone, smoking and filling out useless paperwork—one part about your new job that you will never get used to is all this useless red tape, and it almost makes you wish you were a government operative again, your only duty to complete your missions and give an oral report to your superior—and someone knocks at the closed door. You tell him to go the fuck away, you're busy, without looking up. Instead, the door opens, and you look up, irritated, and get ready to scare him off (you're good at that, you've discovered; everyone in the Bunkyo Precinct who didn't know you from the department lives in terror of you).

But it's Yaso standing in the doorway, expression blank, and the words die on your lips.

She comes in and closes the door, then walks up to your desk and sets the sheaf of papers she's holding down in front of you.

Sign these, she says, tone neutral.

What's that? you ask, thinking this is the most surreal delusion you've had in ever.

Divorce papers, she says, and your eyes snap down to them.

I thought your lawyer'd give them to mine, you say after a pause.

I wanted to make sure you signed them quickly, she replies, and the words sting a little.

You smile a little bitterly and lean over the papers to put your name down in the spaces indicated.

Eager, huh? you ask, your voice full of dark humor, but nobody's laughing.

She doesn't reply, just watches you in silence, and once you're done you shuffle the papers together and hand them back over to her.

Done, you say, and you're not just talking about the papers.

Goodbye, she says and turns away and walks toward the door.

Hold on, you say, and grab a scrap of paper. You scribble your number down and get up and walk over to where she's standing, looking irritated. You hold it out to her and say, Here. In case you ever need to get a hold of me.

I sincerely doubt that possibility, she says icily.

Better to have it and not need it than need it and not have it, you say, and she sighs and takes it reluctantly.

I still don't think I'll need it, she mutters, shoving it into her purse.

Maybe not, you think to yourself, but your brothers suck at taking care of you.

And she's not really your responsibility anymore (though you'll be paying alimony for a good long while), but someone should be looking out for her, and you did such a shit job the first time that you want a second chance to prove that you aren't such a douche and she can depend on you for something.

Instead of telling her that, you smirk and say, Oh well, at least you can call me and tell me what a piece of shit I am when you feel like it.

She watches you silently for a moment.

There is that, she says finally, and then she leaves, shutting the door behind her, and leaves you alone again.

But you don't really want to be alone right now, not when you just ended your marriage on the very day you should have been celebrating its seventh year of existence, so you grab your smokes and matches and leave the office to find Souji.

Hijikata is going to raise hell at you for not getting your paperwork in on time, but getting yelled at isn't anything new.

_XoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoX_

Souji decides you need a drink when he finds out that you're a divorced man.

You don't necessarily think that's true, but you've never turned down a drink in your life, free or not, so you let him drag you to a dive popular with the MPD—called The Gutter Ball; Fucking Souji and his love of anything even remotely American and/or English, you think when you hear the name—located in one of the seedier parts of Kabuki-cho, once you're let off for the day.

You even keep your peace when Souji strong arms Himura into coming too—soon, you'll have so much saké in you that the redhead's presence will cease to be an irritant, and that promise is enough to placate you.

The three of you grab a table in the corner, and sit in such a way as to have your backs up against walls—you immediately take the seat in the corner, because you're the most paranoid, and you want to get pretty drunk tonight; you won't be able to if you feel exposed and can't watch what's going on from all angles.

Souji won't let you drink, though. At least, not until two people walk through the door: Senpai and Harada.

Apparently, the little shit called up the two men and told them about the divorce going through, and they immediately came down. You're most surprised by Senpai's appearance, though, because he's living up in Hokkaido now, and that's a hell of a trip to make for the sole purpose of drinking with an old friend.

The five of you order enough liquor to kill lesser men, and you all sit there for hours, getting drunker and drunker. Eventually, a fight somehow breaks out with another table—you're not clear on details—and a bar brawl of epic proportions begins that results in arrests when the Shinjuku Precinct boys come down. None of you get arrested, because you help neutralize the troublemakers (and conveniently forget to mention that you five are some of those troublemakers…).

You all end up at the apartment you just began living in that week, where there is a definite lack of food but not booze, and you continue drinking until everyone passes out.

Because you still don't have blinds, you wake up to the sun hitting you full in the face, and to the pained groans of the men you were poisoning your liver with last night.

You call yourself in sick to work, and Souji and Himura follow suit, and all three of you get yelled at by Hijikata, which Senpai and Harada find terribly amusing. The minute they start laughing, though, their hangovers get worse, so you don't mind the fact that they find it so funny.

Well, not a whole lot, anyway.

So now what? Souji asks, arm thrown over his face as he lies on the carpet of your dining room; you all moved into the dining room and shut the living room door to block out the sun, because sitting in semi-darkness is better for your aching heads than in a room bathed in early morning sun.

Hell if I know, you say, sitting against the wall.

Got aspirin? Senpai asks from his prone position on the floor, very near Souji and Himura, who is sitting with his head cradled in his hands, all hunched over; you silently promise to kill him if he throws up on your carpet.

Maybe, you say.

Dude, how do you _not_ know? Harada asks, incredulous, staring at you out of glazed, bloodshot eyes.

You shrug and close your eyes just to irritate him, and smile widely when he starts grumbling about what an asshole you are.

It feels like old times again, even if you know things are different now.

_XoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoX_

Later that day finds you sitting on the tiles of your balcony, smoking and watching the sun go down.

Everyone is still there; Himura actually proved useful and fixed up some foul-tasting concoction to kill the hangovers. He had no idea what it was called, and was curiously evasive when asked where he'd gotten it from, only willing to say that it was something he learned how to make a long time ago when he started learning kenjutsu.

You slept most of the hangover off, though the headache lingers in the back of your head, pulsing dully every now and again. You decided a cigarette or two would kill it, since you hadn't smoked all day and were starting to feel a little edgy, so you left the others to lie on your dining room floor like snoring corpses.

You sit with your back against the wall, because being able to see eight stories down to the ground below makes you nauseous, and if liquor couldn't get you to upchuck you'll be damned if you'll let a little height vertigo do the job.

And it's peaceful for a while, and your mind is pleasantly blank in a way it hasn't been for a long time.

But the longer you sit there in the lengthening shadows of the late afternoon day, the more you start to wonder. You're twenty-five-years-old now, living on your own. You and your family are on speaking terms again, and they're treating you as if you'd never left. Your sister is getting married in a couple of months, and your brother's first child, a little girl, was just born three—no, four—days ago.

But you just got divorced. You're twenty-five and you just got divorced—you're younger than your siblings, but you can't help thinking that you've become the example, the template that shows them what not to do. You crashed and burned before you hit thirty, and you can't help feeling like something of a failure. You let down the one person you promised never to let down, and for what, exactly? None of what you did can ever get out, or you'll be charged with treason, or terrorism, or whatever the fuck it is the government feels like calling it, and executed. You have a lot of money in the bank, but so what—you haven't got anyone to really spend it on. You spend most of your time either alone or with Souji (and sometimes Himura, if Souji can whine the guy into acquiescing), and when you're alone, even now, you still think about killing yourself every once in a while. You can't always sleep at night, and when the insomnia's too bad, you ask for night shifts for weeks straight until Hijikata changes your schedule and tells you to fucking pull yourself together, for Christ's sake. And when it isn't insomnia, you have nightmares, reliving some of your more gruesome assignments second for second, that you wake up from drenched in sweat, unable to breathe, and so unreasonably terrified of going back to sleep that you stay up the rest of the night, chain-smoking until you stop shaking.

You're a psychological mess, even now, almost a full two years after leaving your career as a government operative behind. A twenty-five-year-old, divorced, mentally unstable lieutenant in the MPD—that's what two years and ten months in the department got you.

Souji's opening the sliding glass door interrupts the increasingly black direction of your thoughts. He shuts the door, then plops down next to you, a beer in each hand.

You look like a man needs a drink, he says with a cheery grin that you can see right through.

But you don't call him out on it, instead accepting one of the bottles and saying, If Yamazaki hadn't bought the farm he'd be yelling at you for giving me another beer not twelve hours after I had my last one.

And buy the farm Yamazaki did. He'd been the department's doctor, yes, but hardly anyone in the department had just one specialty, and Yamazaki's other one was closely tied with his skill as a doctor. His final assassination order had also been his last mission—something had gone wrong and he'd ended up dead, and the death of your friend had been a breaking point, his hasty, completely dishonorable funeral making you bitter and decide to leave. The department just crumbled faster than you could put in for your resignation.

Good old Yamazaki, Souji says nostalgically, smiling sadly as he watches the sky turn deep orange. He takes a sip of his beer (and makes a face; he hates beer, but he's as much of an alcoholic now as you are, and beer's all you have), then says, He was a good guy.

We should bury him right, you say suddenly, because it's something that's always bothered you—a decent man like Yamazaki not getting a proper funeral or burial.

Souji looks over at you for a minute, then jerks his head.

Yeah, he agrees, we should.

_XoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoX_

There are probably laws against this.

Actually, you _know_ there are laws against this.

You just don't give a shit.

Senpai, Harada and Himura agreed with you and Souji immediately when you told them that Yamazaki ought to be put to rest properly. So Souji and Harada decided that since everyone was in agreement, all of you should give Yamazaki his proper burial _now_. Which wasn't quite what you had in mind, and you haven't had enough liquor yet to think it's as fantastic an idea as Souji and Harada—both of whom are still _sober_, incidentally—seem to believe, but when you remember everything Yamazaki did for you in the short time he knew you, you agree.

So the five of you go back to the building that once housed the department in all of its misery, now abandoned and derelict. You don't like being there—it brings back the face of every man you ever executed with a painful, stunning clarity that you didn't think was really possible—but Yamazaki's remains are there, buried in the yard, so you haven't got a choice.

You and Harada end up digging the plain, cheap coffin up, while Himura steals a van from somewhere.

This is definitely illegal, you say as you're helping Harada and Souji load the coffin into the van.

And? Senpai asks, raising an eyebrow.

And nothing, you reply, just it feels sorta like old days again.

And the four of you laugh, maybe a little darkly, but you laugh, until Himura calls back that you're sort of on a time constraint—Night only lasts for so long, he says—and you need to get moving.

_XoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoX_

Souji had made a few calls and a fellow operative from back in the day came through and found a place that was willing to cremate Yamazaki at such an ungodly hour, no questions asked. For a fee, of course.

Still, you all put in enough to cover the fee, and Yamazaki gets eased into the crematorium, and when it's done, you five solemnly pick out his bones and perform the necessary rights in lieu of the family, because there are no more Yamazakis to see your Yamazaki off right.

You all go back to your apartment and have a wake for him, doing things assways but it's the thought that counts, and you all drink saké for hours and reminisce about the man whose ashes are sitting in an urn on the floor in the center of the circle you've all made around it, and you all laugh and even cry a little every now and then. And when the sun comes up, you all go looking for a temple to bury him at, and you find a small one tucked away from the noise of Tokyo that suits him. You all make the proper arrangements and buy him a damn nice headstone because, you all agree, he deserves it, and set the burial for two days from then, then head back to your apartment. You call Hijikata and let him know you're running late, and when he yells and demands to know what the fuck is wrong with you now, you tell him you were arranging for Yamazaki Susumu to have the funeral he should have had. Then, because Hijikata has gone dead silent on the other line, you hang up on him, and honestly don't care if the asshole fires you at this point.

When the day of Yamazaki's funeral finally arrives, Harada and Senpai—who have been imposing on your hospitality for four going on five days now—go to the temple with you, all of you dressed in black suits appropriate to the occasion. Yours is hanging off your frame a little too loosely, but you ignore that, because you didn't realize you'd dropped so much weight until you put the suit on. Himura and Souji get there at the same time you three do, and you all head to the plot you picked out, and find Hijikata and Kondou-taichou there talking to the priest who was going to officiate. Himura admits to letting it slip to Hijikata, but you find you aren't mad at the idiot. Hijikata's still an asshole, but he cared enough about Yamazaki to come, and you can respect that about the man, if nothing else.

Other former operatives trickle in, and once it's clear no one else is going to come, you have nearly one hundred men standing around the cramped graveyard. Not that you're surprised, really, because Yamazaki was a universally well-liked guy, but you weren't expecting all these people to be here.

And Yamazaki gets his proper burial, just like you wanted. And as a bonus, maybe because he was such a good guy and the gods or Fate or something was in a generous mood, it's a beautiful day, the kind of day he always enjoyed so much the few times he resigned himself to sitting out on the roof with you while you poisoned your lungs.

You're still incredibly fucked up, and you know you always will be. But this is one ghost you can definitely put to rest, one ghost less to haunt you at night, and that helps.

A little.

_XoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoXoX_

The next day when you walk into the luncheonette, Tokio looks immediately relieved to see you.

You had a lot of opportunities to cheat on your wife (_Ex_, you remind yourself) while you were away, but you never took advantage of them, because you're basically an honest person and taking up any of those offers would have meant breaking your promise to love, honor and cherish Yaso. But when you met Tokio, you seriously started to think about it. Maybe technically, your marriage was dead by then, but you were still married, officially, and if Yaso had ever gotten solid proof of infidelity, you would have been crucified.

But that didn't even bother you. What you were interested in was Tokio, who was as different from Yaso as you could get, who didn't think you were a scumbag, who smiled at you and teased you and allowed you to tease her back. Who was honestly interested in you and your life, even if you were hesitant to share anything with her because you'd gotten in the habit of hiding everything from everyone and it was a harder habit to break than you'd thought.

Where were you yesterday, Saitou-san? she asks when you reach the counter.

Friend's funeral, you say, not feeling up to playing your usual game today.

She sends you a solemn look, and reaches over and places a small, comforting hand on your arm.

I'm sorry, she says.

And you know she's sincere, because she's that kind of person. But you also know that she will never be able to really _understand_, because what actually happened yesterday is far removed from what she probably pictures in her mind.

Would you like to talk about it? she asks, and her hand is still on your arm, and you can feel her warmth through your coat and shirt sleeves.

It feels nice. No, better than nice—it makes you feel human.

No, you say quietly, and she nods.

Okay, she says simply, and she doesn't mention it again.

You talk about other things with her, as usual.

But her hand doesn't leave your sleeve until it's time for you to go.

And the whole way back to the precinct, you can still feel its weight and warmth.

And hours later, when you sit out on your balcony and pour a cup of saké in Yamazaki's memory, a lit cig dangling out of a corner of your mouth, you can still feel it, and you put your hand over the spot and smile a little.

Your life is no fairy tale—not by a long shot—but that's okay.

Fairy tales are boring, anyway.


End file.
